


Relic! The Balance Opera

by dozmuffinxc, kellysaur



Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008), The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24380164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dozmuffinxc/pseuds/dozmuffinxc, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellysaur/pseuds/kellysaur
Summary: Ten years ago, the Great Relics came to Faerun. How they came and why is a mystery, but their effect was almost instantaneous.Out of the tragedy, a savior arose: the Bureau of Balance, a clandestine organization established to save the weak-minded masses from the thrall of the Relics.They do not work alone: In the shadows lurks a group of men and women feared for their ruthlessness and brutality who hunt down the unfortunate souls who fall victim to the Thrall.They are the Regulators, and the most formidable of their number is the most terrifying of all.Assassin. Murderer. Monster.Bluejeans.
Relationships: Barry Bluejeans & Taako, Barry Bluejeans/Lup, Lup & Taako (The Adventure Zone)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 28





	1. Prelude

Faerun. The not-so-distant future. A world at war.

Ten years ago, the Great Relics came to Faerun. How they came and why is a mystery, but their effect was almost instantaneous.

Chaos. Death. Poverty. Destruction. Brother turning against brother, children murdering their own parents. No one was safe, and it seemed that Faerun itself must fall.

Amid the devastation of war, a new drug emerged: Ichor. A secret formula of highly volatile ingredients that grants the consumer the ability to delete unwanted memories, Ichor is traded on the black market by Potioneers who sell to the highest bidder. The drug is effective, but addictive. In a world defined by loss and devastation, forgetfulness is the closest thing to bliss that most of Faerun can hope for.

Out of the tragedy, a savior arose: the Bureau of Balance, a clandestine organization established to save the weak-minded masses from the thrall of the Relics. Their leader, a human woman named Lucretia, appeared on the public scene within the first months of the war’s outbreak along with Taako, her mysteriously-ill elvish ward. With her team of Reclaimers and Seekers, the Director strives to save the people of Faerun from their own worst impulses.

They do not, however, work alone. In the shadows lurks a group of men and women feared for their ruthlessness and brutality who hunt down the unfortunate souls who fall victim to the Thrall. Once a Relic has been claimed, the life of the claimant is forfeit. 

They’re quick. They’re effective. They are without mercy. They do not distinguish between age, race, or gender, and they will stop at nothing to enforce the Bureau’s justice.

They are the Regulators.


	2. Act I, Scene 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s heard the rumors; he knows where to find the Potioneer. He also knows that what he’s seeking is illegal, but he is beyond caring. He’s already a criminal: the Director has made that abundantly clear. Nevertheless, he’s pretty sure that she wouldn’t be too keen on learning that her top Regulator is using Ichor to sleep at night.

Barry wakes as he so often does: heart pounding in his chest, the ghost of a scream dying in his throat, fingernails digging painfully into his palms as he sits up in bed and stares into the darkness of the room, trying in vain to recall the image that’s haunted his dreams for the past year.

_He was so close this time. He almost saw her face. Her back was to him, but she was about to turn around. Why does she never turn around?_

He grits his teeth and throws his sweat-dampened sheets from the bed. They land in a pile on the floor next to his mud-caked boots. He forgot to clean them after his last mission, and he knows that if he looks closely, there will be specks of blood mixed in with the dirt. He doesn’t look.

He checks his pocket watch, eyes acclimating quickly to the dark -- a side effect of long hours spent working at night, he supposes -- and he groans when he realizes it’s only 4 o’clock in the morning.

_At least he got two hours of sleep this time._

The same dull headache is pulsing at the base of his skull. He’s sleep-deprived, he knows it, but every time he closes his eyes he sees _her_ \-- well, he sees part of her, and the guilt of what he did drags him into wakefulness every time. He wonders if he’s going crazy, but then he remembers that he’s already crazy, so what’s a little more insanity to top off the raging psychosis?

Barry puts his feet on the ground, rises from the bed, and starts dressing. He needs to act quickly before he second-guesses what he’s about to do, what he has to do if he wants to maintain even the smallest modicum of sanity. 

He’s heard the rumors; he knows where to find the Potioneer. He also knows that what he’s seeking is illegal, but he is beyond caring. He’s already a criminal: the Director has made that abundantly clear. Nevertheless, he’s pretty sure that she wouldn’t be too keen on learning that her top Regulator is using Ichor to sleep at night.

He slips out of his room in the Regulators’ dormitory on silent feet, but he needn’t have bothered; no one apart from the guards are on duty or awake at this odd hour, and it’s easy enough to slip past Avi and his partner and down the out-of-bounds corridor where he’s heard a man (or elf, or orc, or tiefling…) can find an unscrupulous dealer of illegal potions.

It doesn’t take long to find the Potioneer. Barry wonders whether he (or she? They? The dark hood they wear covers any distinguishing facial features, but he thinks he can see the shape of feline ears beneath the black fabric) is a magic user, because they seem to have a preternatural awareness of where to find a willing victim. 

“It’ll make all your dreams come true,” the Potioneer croons in his ear as a nimble-fingered hand slips the small vial into Barry’s outstretched hand.

“Dreams are what I want to _avoid_ ,” Barry mutters, and the Potioneer chuckles in reply.

“Anything’s possible for a price. Rest assured: you’ll sleep soundly tonight, Regulator.”

Their hands brush as Barry hands over the bag of gold, and Barry recoils at the touch of claws on his bare skin. He glances down to make sure he isn’t bleeding, and when he looks back up again, the Potioneer is gone.

He is, however, not alone.

“I know you’re there,” Barry says, his voice low enough not to attract attention from unwanted parties but loud enough to be heard by the figure lurking ineffectually in the shadows.

The figure moves as if to run, and Barry sighs.

“If you run, I’ll just catch you. Come into the light. You’re in no danger from me.”

“That’s not what the Director says,” the figure replies, but they shift out of the half-hidden corridor, and Barry is surprised to see the determined face of the Director’s ward staring back at him with a steely glint in his eyes.

Barry knows very little about Taako, and he suspects this is by design. The elf is under the protection of the Director, and that should be enough for him, but he can’t help his curiosity. Taako is rarely seen away from the Director’s side, and even those sightings are rare. Barry thinks he heard somewhere that Taako is ill and only leaves his rooms for special occasions, but the elf in front of him looks healthy enough, and the glare he’s directing at Barry has more heat than he would expect after the rumors of weak-minded febrility that he’s heard around the moon base.

“You’re Taako,” Barry says when it becomes clear that Taako isn’t going to initiate the conversation. 

Taako rolls his eyes.

“Natch,” he says, and when he shifts his weight to shrug a long, blonde braid over his shoulder, Barry notices that he’s holding a red umbrella in both hands. He’s about to comment on it when Taako catches the direction of Barry’s eyes and buries the umbrella in the folds of the white cloak that he wears draped over his shoulders like a security blanket.

“Why do _you_ need Ichor,” Taako asks baldly, and Barry gets the impression that Taako isn’t an elf to skirt around an issue. He’s impressed, actually, and maybe that’s why he answers so honestly.

“Why does anyone need it? To forget.”

“You’re a Regulator. What’s so bad that you’d want to forget about it?”

Almost immediately, Taako draws back, abashed.

“I shouldn’t have… that wasn’t… I’m sorry,” he says, and Barry can’t help feeling like he’s the one who should be apologizing. Taako looks suddenly very small and very unsure, and although Barry doesn’t understand the sudden change of tone, he knows guilt when he sees it. It’s reflected back at him in his mirror every morning, after all.

“It’s all right,” Barry says. “But I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention to anybody that you s-s-saw me dealing with the Potioneer.”

Taako’s eyebrows raise at the stutter, and Barry kicks himself mentally for letting it slip. There’s no room for weakness in Barry’s line of work, and he learned early on to keep his speech impediment under wraps. Taako, however, seems unphased.

“Does it really work,” Taako asks.

“Ichor?” Barry says, and Taako nods, stepping closer with an eagerness that surprises Barry and makes him draw back even though the elf is at least a foot shorter than he is.

“Sure,” Barry says. “If there’s something you want to forget, it works great. It just... doesn’t last. So, you know… it can be… addictive.”

It’s ironic, of course, that Barry is standing here discussing the mechanics of Faerun’s most vilified drug with the Director’s ward. He can appreciate that irony and he knows he should shut up; he knows he should run back to his dorm and forget that they ever met, but there’s something about Taako that makes him want to keep talking, and _gods_ , it’s so nice to have someone to talk to. Most of the other Regulators avoid Barry, and rumors only grow. No one knows the truth of what he’s done, but everyone knows that he’s bad news, a dangerous man, persona non grata. Good conversations are, understandably, hard to come by.

“If it’s so dangerous, why do you risk it?” Taako asks, and Barry can tell that the elf is just as starved for interaction as he is. There’s a hungry glint in his eyes, and though he’s trying hard to look nonchalant, Taako is clearly hanging on Barry’s every word.

“Bad dreams,” Barry admits before he can stop himself.

Taako nods, understanding softening his features.

“I have those, too,” he says, and his eyes focus on something just over Barry’s shoulder as he continues. “There’s a girl -- a woman, I guess -- and I dream about her all the time. I know she’s important, but when I try to remember why, it just… _hurts_.

“I know she’s real,” Taako spits, suddenly defensive even though Barry hasn’t said anything, hasn’t even moved since Taako started speaking. “She has hair like mine and she always wears red and I know she’s real, even if the Director says she isn’t.”

A chill runs down Barry’s spine as Taako speaks. The description is vague enough, but somehow, he knows: Taako’s mystery woman is the same one who haunts his dreams. Now that he looks at Taako, notices the way his long, blonde hair curls just so, Barry can see the similarities to the phantom that comes to him each night. It’s suddenly very difficult to breathe, and Barry has to brace himself against the wall to keep from sliding to the floor and onto his weak knees.

“Y-y-you dream about her, too,” Barry gasps, less of a question and more of a desperate statement of fact waiting to be affirmed. He staggers forward and grabs Taako’s shoulder; the elf flinches but remains intrigued despite himself. He doesn’t pull away.

“Yeeeesss?” Taako looks skeptical as he lingers on the syllables. “I mean -- that’s… how can that be? Why would I dream about the same person y--”

Before he can finish his thought, Taako shudders, pain contorting his features, and his hands fly to his head, fingers digging into his hair as he sinks to his knees on the floor. Barry, caught completely off-guard, ducks down beside him, but when he attempts to offer a helping hand, Taako swats it away irritably.

“Oh gods, _come on_. Not now, not… agh!” Taako flinches as the light from a torch passes over their crouched forms and he hides his eyes from the sudden brightness.

“Davenport.”

It takes a great deal of skill to sneak up on Barry, but he is completely taken aback by the appearance of the Director’s gnomish assistant. His gloved hand is on Taako’s elbow, and his expression is stern as he helps the elf to his feet and presses a small, blue bottle into Taako’s hand. He doesn’t spare a glance for Barry, but Barry knows that he is being watched, nevertheless.

“Davenport,” he repeats, more slowly this time, and Taako grits out an affirmation between clenched teeth, uncorking the bottle with shaky fingers and downing the potion in one gulp.

There’s a moment where Taako looks up at Barry right after he’s taken the potion, and Barry swears there’s recognition in his eyes. He seems about to speak, some monumental truth perched on the tip of his tongue, but in the span of a second, Taako’s face goes blank and it’s like looking into the eyes of a statue rather than a living, breathing person. He blinks twice, shakes his head slowly, and sighs as if he’s suddenly remembered that he’s exhausted. Meanwhile, Davenport’s hand has not left the elf’s elbow, and he exerts his strength now to guide Taako away down the hall without a word of explanation or farewell.

Barry knows he shouldn’t say anything, should let this odd pair walk away and never give them a second thought, but he _can’t, he can’t._

“Taako,” he says, his voice falsely bright as he feigns nonchalance. He’s only heard the gnome speak that one word, Davenport, ever in all the time he’s known him, but who knows what passes between master and assistant when no one else is around. “Maybe we could talk about… about _her_ again sometime?”

Taako turns slowly as he’s led away, but the only response he manages before he’s whisked through one of the many locked doors on the Bureau’s base is 

“...who?”


	3. Act I, Scene 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As much as he desires the oblivion that the drug promises, Barry is surprised to realize that there’s a small but insistent part of his mind that fears what will happen if the dreams disappear. As much as he fears them, as much as the image of the faceless woman sends rivulets of cold fear and, more inexplicably, regret, down his spine, who would he be without her?

Barry walks back in the general direction of the dormitories, slowly, without any real, identifiable purpose, trying to parse meaning out of his conversation with Taako. He strikes a formidable figure as he stalks the shadowed halls, the erratic buzz of the electric lights flickering pathetically in their sconces hurrying him along. The occasional clank of old pipes rattling in the rusted, metal walls serve as an appropriately-Gothic backdrop to the dark-robed Regulator pacing on silent feet through the bowels of the Bureau of Balance. As he walks, he mutters to himself, his hands in fists at his side, brows furrowed into an expression that makes a passing intern gasp in fear and withdraw, trembling, into a supply closet rather than cross his path.

It doesn’t make any sense that Taako, a complete stranger -- the Director’s ward, for gods’ sake -- would have the same dreams, see the same strange woman every time he closes his eyes. Life isn’t a fairytale, some bardic composition of love and mystery where the hero saves the lost princess: there must be a rational explanation, and Barry knows he could figure it out if he could just focus, if he could just _sleep_ for once instead of waking with terror in his gullet and longing in his heart.

His right hand slips into his pocket where he feels the cool, hard surface of the potion bottle tucked inside. One dram from that forbidden vial and he can wake a new man, unencumbered by beautiful phantoms that sink their claws into his subconscious, no awful certainty that some vital part of him is missing if he could only remember _what._

As much as he desires the oblivion that the drug promises, Barry is surprised to realize that there’s a small but insistent part of his mind that fears what will happen if the dreams disappear. As much as he fears them, as much as the image of the faceless woman sends rivulets of cold fear and, more inexplicably, regret, down his spine, who would he be without her? 

When the Director recruited him from the Bureau dungeons, bruised and bloodied with no recollection of how he’d gotten there, she had laid out the awful truth of his crimes, how he’d been one of the infamous Red Robes who created the relics that have sent their world into an apocalyptic spiral of madness and death and how, in his lust for power, he killed the other creators in cold blood. It’s a blessing that he doesn’t remember, she says, and now that he’s recovered from the thrall of the relics, it’s his job to make right the horrors that he helped bring into the world. She keeps his secret because no one at the Bureau would agree to work with him if they knew who he really was, but she’s made it clear that her trust must be earned. If he wants redemption, he has to work for it, and he has -- for seven long years now, he has served as her chief Regulator, bringing to justice those cursed souls who choose to embrace the power of the relics, as he once did, as he fears he would again if he is given the chance.

Barry has long assumed that the woman in his dreams must be one of the Red Robes that he killed. Why she haunts him more than the rest, why he remembers the bare outline of her when the remainder of his past is shrouded in a mystery that refuses to be unraveled, he doesn’t know. It frightens him, and Barry -- well, Barry does not frighten easily.

His hand is on the door of his bedroom and his thoughts are on the little glass vial in his pocket when the bracer on his arm beeps and a hologram of the Director’s face projects itself onto the raw metal of the dormitory door.

“Bluejeans. Report to my office immediately.”

Her voice, even distorted by the mechanism of the bracer, brooks no contradictions. Her eyes are hardly more than specks of holographic dust, but they bore into him nevertheless, and he nods his assent even though she cannot see him. The image flickers out of existence, and Barry leans his forehead against the cold door where the Director’s face was moments before, breathing through his nose as he tries to quell the anger that flares inside him in roiling, volcanic waves. Being ordered around by a woman who obviously despises him, who lords his transgressions (sins he doesn’t even _remember_ ) over his head to keep him obedient, feels like a rusty blade to the gut, and when he feels that sting, it’s not difficult to imagine himself losing his composure and committing the crime that he’s been accused of. It’s alarming to feel so unmoored, so unhinged, but the moment usually passes in an instant. It does now, and he is able to breathe deeply, straighten his spine, and turn towards the hallway leading to the executive wing.

The base begins to come alive around him as he walks. The atrium he passes through is bathed in the tangerine glow of sunrise filtering in through the glass panels overhead, and the chatter of workers on their way to their first shifts of the day slices through his reverie. He recognizes a few faces: Johann with his teetering pile of scrolls actually nods in greeting when Barry passes, and Carey and Killian are sipping from twin mugs of something fragrant and steaming as they sit on a bench in the artificial garden and pour over what Barry assumes are their next mission details. They look up as he passes and Killian’s lips curl around her already-protruding teeth. Her arm laces around Carey’s waist as she pulls her girlfriend close, and Barry is pretty sure he hears the low rumble of a primal growl as he pretends not to feel the animosity radiating off of both women.

Avi is stationed in front of the Director’s office, his left hand resting lightly on the broadsword sheathed at his side. Barry flashes his ID and tries to ignore the little muscle in Avi’s jaw that twitches unconsciously as the Regulator passes through the door.

“You’re late,” the Director says in lieu of greeting. She’s waiting for him, seated in her massive, straight-backed chair that resembles nothing so much as a throne of steel, and Barry fights back a grimace.

“Apologies,” he says, lacing his fingers behind his back so that he doesn’t fidget unnecessarily. “I was on the other side of the base when I got your summons. It won’t happen again.”

The Director nods, pausing to take him in, her eyes tracing his body from toe to temple with the careful gaze of an anthropologist taking the measure of a foreign subject for the first time. Barry tries hard not to squirm beneath her scrutiny. He never knows what she’s looking for -- perhaps some outward evidence that he’s losing his grip on reality, some tick or secret tell that would alert her that he’s once again a danger to those around him. Whatever it is she’s searching for, she seems satisfied, nodding slightly and steepling her fingers on the desk in front of her.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me,” she asks.

“N-n-no?” Barry grits his teeth, fighting the urge to urge to stammer as he rolls his shoulders back and tries again for a more appropriate response. “That is -- nothing that I’m aware of, Madame Director.”

“No?”

The possibility that she knows about his impromptu meeting with Taako sends a thrill down Barry’s spine, but he won’t betray himself. If she brings it up, he’ll tell her the truth: he was out for a walk and they met completely by accident. It’s not his fault if she doesn’t keep a close enough eye on her own ward.

“The last mission report you submitted was… sparse, at best,” she says, gesturing to a thin file on her desk. 

“I got the job done. Evidence of the… proof of termination was provided, as requested,” Barry insists with barely-concealed distaste.

“Yes,” the Director accedes, “but your write-up mentions an ‘unexpected delay.’ You did not elaborate. I would like you to do so now.”

Barry forces his face to remain expressionless, schools his voice to remain even despite the disgust currently wrapping its slimy tendrils around his stomach.

“The target was a _child_ , Madame Director. I wasn’t sure how to proceed. It was… an anomaly, and I waited for further instructions. It took the Bureau office fifteen minutes to respond--”

“During which time countless lives might have been lost,” the Director spits.

“But they weren’t,” Barry says, taking an unconscious step forward before checking himself. “The child was contained. She had used the relic to create a sand palace on the beach. There was a rosewater moat. She wasn’t a threat.”

“Anyone corrupted by the relics is a threat, Bluejeans. You’re lucky she didn’t command one of her seashell footmen to take off your head.”

“I got the job done,” Barry replies quietly, his eyes on the toes of his boots. He can’t look at her when she’s like this, can’t stand being reminded of what he does on her orders.

“Yes,” the Director says, “you did. Next time, you won’t hesitate.”

“No,” Barry says.

“Say it,” she insists, rising in her seat slightly, her face ghoulish in the light of the massive aquarium that sits beside her desk.

“Next time, I won’t hesitate.”

“Good.” 

She stands, and as she does, she turns her back to Barry to stare into the aquarium’s murky depths. It’s been empty as long as Barry can remember, and he has no idea why she keeps it in her office, but that emptiness seems a suitable metaphor for the gaping chasm that’s opened itself in his gut, radiating misery into every nerve ending of his being.

When the Director speaks again, it’s in a softer tone, almost sympathetic. She’s still facing away from him, and if he didn’t see her shoulders moving from the effort of talking, he would doubt that it was actually her voice. 

“I know you find this hard to believe, but everything I do, I am doing to keep us safe. Those who use the relics for their own gain are a threat to every life in this realm, and I will not stop until those relics and the people who exploit them are contained -- or eliminated completely.”

Barry doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn't. He’s heard all of this before. It never makes what he does any better. He isn’t sure why she’s repeating it all now unless it’s to make him feel guilty. If so, it’s working.

“Barry,” she says, and this unexpected use of his first name catches him off-guard. The Director turns, and for a fraction of a second, he thinks there might actually be tears in her eyes. “You have to trust me. Trust that what I am doing is for the good of everyone, yourself included. There is no room for doubt here. The world is too broken, and I need you to help me fix it. There are no other options. You see that, don’t you?”

A tiny, niggling sensation worries at the back of Barry’s mind, but he forces himself to nod. As he does, the softness seems to evaporate from the Director and she rolls her shoulders back as if this moment of intimacy were merely a kink in her armor that she can fix with a quick adjustment.

“The only reason you are not in the dungeons right now is by my good graces,” she says, arms crossed at her chest. “Don’t forget that, Bluejeans. You’ve been useful thus far, but you’re still a murderer. You’ve seen the files. You know what you did.”

Images of the gore-spattered knife, the necromantic spell books, the tattered red robes flash unbidden across Barry’s mind as he clenches and unclenches his fist. He doesn’t need to be reminded. He knows he’s a monster. He feels it in his heart. If he wasn’t, then why is he alone? Why does he feel so empty? Why does killing come so easily to him?

When he looks up, she’s offering him a file stamped with the Bureau’s logo in silver ink. He recognizes it as his next mission orders, and he accepts it without comment. When she doesn’t immediately let go, he looks up to find her staring at him with eyes like liquid mercury, her face less than a foot from his.

“The elf is none of your concern, Bluejeans. You will not speak to him again.”

Barry gapes.

“I didn’t-- it was an _accident_ , I…”

“It will not happen again,” she repeats, more slowly this time, punctuating each word with a minute shake of the file.

When she releases the file, the sudden absence of her weight at the other end sends Barry stumbling backwards. He catches himself before he falls over but just barely, and when he looks up to see if she’s noticed, the Director is already behind her desk, her back to him once more, silhouetted against the aquamarine glow of the aquarium that bubbles desolately behind a thick pane of wall-to-wall glass.


	4. Act I, Scene 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sees her again, flickering in and out of his vision like one of Lucretia’s faltering holograms. A flash of red. A glimpse of golden hair, short and wild.
> 
> Her face, her voice—they stay in the shadows, just out of his reach.
> 
> Taako’s heart tightens in his chest, and distantly he recognizes the feeling as a mixture of guilt and grief.
> 
> And then she fades to black nothingness.

He sees her again, flickering in and out of his vision like one of Lucretia’s faltering holograms. A flash of red. A glimpse of golden hair, short and wild.

Her face, her voice—they stay in the shadows, just out of his reach.

Taako’s heart tightens in his chest, and distantly he recognizes the feeling as a mixture of guilt and grief.

And then she fades to black nothingness.

_She was so close._

He feels himself stir to consciousness, feels the weight of a blanket on top of him and the dip of the mattress beneath him. But he still feels _her_ , too, _right there_ , and he blindly reaches out to his side for her.

“Lu—”

“That’s right, it’s Lucretia. I’m right here.” A hand clasps his own as a voice responds, but it’s wrong and it’s not who he’s looking for and—

He forces his eyes open, forces himself to turn towards the person at his side.

Lucretia’s forehead is creased with worry, but the corners of her lips twitch into a relieved smile as she sees him wake. “I’m glad you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Shitty,” Taako mumbles. A thick fog has filled his head, leaving him with little room to focus.

She nods, releasing his hand and leaning over to a side table. “Here. Davenport made some tea.”

Taako shifts to sitting with his back against his pile of pillows. He realizes he’s only wearing his underclothes, but he’s unsure if he undressed himself or if someone else had to do it for him.

Lucretia holds out a steaming cup of tea, and he sips it silently.

It’s too strong, and there’s too much sugar. Davenport always seems to fuck it up right after Taako has an episode. But it lifts the fog, little by little, so he keeps drinking.

And with each mouthful of tea, the woman from his dreams seems just a little further. Just a little more out of his reach.

He hands the empty glass back to Lucretia, who sets it back down with a clink. “You really need to be more careful, Taako.”

He sets his jaw as irritation jolts through him. “I’m fine.”

“Clearly, you’re not.” Lucretia laughs without humor. “Davenport found you curled up on the ground, clutching your head and mumbling to yourself. Do you know how scary that was for us?”

Taako stares down at the comforter pooled in his lap. “No, I wasn’t… I was talking to someone. That… that Regulator. What’s his name?” He can’t see his face, either. Why the fuck is he so bad with faces?

What had the two of them even talked about?

Lucretia reaches to take his hand again, but he snatches it away. From the edge of his vision, he sees her deflate. 

“Barry?” He nods, because that feels right, and she shakes her head. “Taako, that’s… impossible. Barry was preparing for a mission last night on the other side of the base.”

“It was him.” The more he thinks about it, the surer he is, and the more his head hurts. “I know it was him, and I know he was there. I didn’t make it up. I know I didn’t.”

“You know your illness can make you delusional. I know you _believe_ it happened, but it was all in your head. Just another of your dreams.”

“Right. Just a dream.” It wasn’t. He knows it wasn’t.

“Besides, you need to keep your distance from him. He’s dangerous. Unpredictable.”

He didn’t seem dangerous. He seemed… lost. Like him. And there was something important about him, something that Taako can’t place. Something Taako needs to find out.

But Taako nods despite the pang of annoyance he feels, because he learned long ago it’s easier to go along with Lucretia than to argue.

“I know you well enough to know you’re going to want to chase after him. But whatever version of him existed in your dreams—the real Barry is violent, and he’s done some bad things. I don’t want you getting hurt.” Her voice is soft but insistent. “Promise me you’ll stay away from him, Taako.”

He turns to her, holds her gaze, and lies through his teeth. “I promise to stay away from him.”

“Thank you.” She offers a soft smile. “I’m just trying to keep you safe. I’m always trying to keep you safe.”

“Yeah. I know.” He’s already thinking of ways he can find that Regulator again, ways the two of them can talk one-on-one.

She pours another cup of tea and extends it to him. He doesn’t want it, but he takes it anyway and holds it in two hands.

He watches the steam swirl and rise from the cup. He shifts minutely. The dark liquid ripples.

Lucretia watches him for a long, tense moment. “Your symptoms seem to be getting worse. Perhaps we need to increase your dose.”

The words register somewhere deep inside his head, but he doesn’t acknowledge her. Instead, he stares into the cup he’s holding onto too tightly.

“Taako—”

“I’m sick of this,” he spits. Frustration and anger churn in his gut. He shoves the teacup back into her hands and throws off the comforter.

Clearly, she’s caught off guard. Lucretia begins to sputter something out, but Taako takes advantage of her shock by shooting out of bed before she can stop him. He ignores the way his head spins and tries to focus on the adrenaline coursing through him.

“I’m sick of medicine and tea and being stuck in my fucking room all the time. I’m tired of you controlling my every fucking move. Maybe I _am_ getting worse. Maybe I’m dying. But I don’t care, because I’m not even fucking _living_ like this!”

Glass shatters as Lucretia rockets to her feet and the cup hits the hard ground. She steps towards him. “ _Taako_. You’re unwell. You need to lay back down.”

He takes a step backwards, baring his teeth like a trapped animal. “You’re not listening to me!” A jolt of pain shoots through his head, but he tries to shake it off. “I’m not gonna stay locked away and sleep myself to death while everyone else is still out there! The others… I can’t—” Another surge of pain cuts him off short as he gasps, a hand flying to clutch at his head.

“The others?” Lucretia’s voice turns to steel. “What others?”

Taako’s head feels like it’s splitting in two and he crumples to his knees. Silhouettes flash across his vision. Barry, a human man, a dwarf, that _woman_ that’s always haunting him—

Lucretia grasps his shoulder and presses a flask into his shaking hands. “It’s medicine,” she hisses. “Drink.”

He shakes his head. “No. No, I don’t want to. I don’t—”

The grip on his shoulder tightens painfully, and the voice that speaks is demanding and cold. “I told you to drink.”

He raises the flask to his lips. It’s easily three times the size of his usual dose, but he chugs it all down.

And as the bitter liquid slides down his throat, he _remembers._

_Magnus, Merle, Lu—_

And then the static consumes him.


	5. Act I, Scene 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taako wakes to find his room dark. He is alone.

Taako wakes to find his room dark. He is alone.

He sits up carefully and swings his legs over the side of the bed. And then he waits, for a spell of dizziness or a shock of pain or for the fog to settle over his thoughts, but nothing comes.

And so, he stands. He paces the length of the room a few times before stopping at his window. It’s perhaps late morning, and the atrium is full of movement as people go about their jobs. No one gives him a second glance—he doubts they could see more than his shadow from down there, anyways.

The door clicks as a key turns in the lock, and Taako turns just in time to see Lucretia step across the threshold.

Is the door usually locked?

She holds her head high as she examines him with a stern look. “What do you remember?”

Taako snorts. “Yeah, nice to see you, too—”

“I asked you a question.” She tightens her grip on the white staff in her hands, the one that never leaves her side.

Taako chews at his bottom lip. He tries to think back, but the fog starts to descend and he shakes his head. “Nothing. What happened?”

Lucretia searches him over, her eyes boring into him. “You had another episode. A particularly bad one.”

“Oh.” He shifts under her gaze. “We all good now?”

“It would appear so.”

“Cool.” He adjusts his weight again.

Relief comes like a punch in the gut as Lucretia turns to leave. She pauses at the doorway. “It would serve you well to remember I was the one that saved you. That if I had not taken you under my wing, you would have died painfully, alone.”

Taako swallows. He’s seen her like this before, but never with _him._ At least, not to this extent. “Yeah, natch. I appreciate the reminder, homie.”

She lets out a hiss of disapproval. Taako feels himself flinch.

“Do you remember why I keep you here? Why you’re not allowed to ever leave the base?”

“I’m sick,” he croaks out. “And the… the red robes are after me.”

“Good.” She steps out of the room, catching his eye with a chilling glare. “Remember that everything I do is for your own wellbeing.”

The door clicks shut and the lock slides back into place.

His heart feels like it’s going to burst from his chest, and his body trembles with anxiety.

He doesn’t understand. What happened? Lucretia is usually so kind to him, so gentle—as if he would break at one wrong touch. But that…

His red umbrella slips from the place it rests against the wall.

It hits the ground with a loud thud. He jumps as the sound shatters through his thoughts. 

“You’re scared of a fuckin’ umbrella now, doofus,” he grumbles to himself.

He picks it up by the curved handle and moves to put it back—

\--but it _resists_ , as if a rope has tethered it in place.

He tugs, but the umbrella is insistent. And he watches as it begins to move on its own, as it tugs his arm up to be level with the lock on the door.

_Click._

The umbrella obediently lowers to his side as Taako steps forward. He knows exactly what he’s going to find as he jiggles the door’s handle.

Sure enough, it’s unlocked.

He puts the umbrella down just long enough to pull his clothes back on, fastening his cloak around his shoulders and buckling his boots. And then, with the umbrella back in his hands, he slips out of the room.

Lucretia is gone, and the hallway is empty. This is a bad idea, and he _knows_ it, but something in his gut urges him forward. He sneaks down the stairs and into a side hallway before he pauses.

Where is he even going? Does he have anywhere _to_ go?

The umbrella jumps back to life. It points to the side like a dowsing rod.

And he follows.

The umbrella leads him through the dark halls of the Bureau of Balance. He passes under flickering lights and past exposed pipes, just narrowly avoiding a few dark puddles on the concrete ground. Each hallway he takes is abandoned, or close to it; twice he needs to press himself into a nook to avoid being seen by a passerby. The last thing he needs is someone questioning him as to why the Director’s ward is wandering around on his own.

The umbrella stays diligent. Finally, he finds himself in the base’s hangar.

Only one figure stands in here, and the umbrella eagerly points in their direction. Taako obliges, though he still doesn’t understand _why_ , and the umbrella calms at his side. He shifts so that his cloak covers it.

Taako has barely started across the room when the figure turns towards him. He feels like he’s seen this man before, long ago. In a dream, maybe.

“Taako?”

“Have we met?” The question slips out before he can stop himself.

The man’s face slips into confusion for a fraction of a second before he smooths his features back down. “Yeah,” he answers gruffly, “Just in passing. My name’s Barry.”

And then Taako remembers why this man is so familiar. “The Regulator.”

Barry rubs a hand over his stubbled chin. “Yeah.”

“Where are you going?” Taako is close enough now to see Barry punching some coordinates into a cannon.

Barry turns back to the screen in front of him, but Taako swears he sees him flinch. “A mission. Nothing you need to worry about.”

It _is_ nothing for him to worry about. It’s none of his business, and Lucretia’s words—her thinly veiled warning—echos in his head.

But the tug in his chest and the umbrella twitching in his hand drive him forward. “Actually, my man, I uh… I do think it’s something I have to worry about. For one reason or another.”

Barry’s brow furrowed. “Taako, I don’t—”

Taako holds up a hand. “I’m tagging along, and it’s not up for debate. Got it?”


	6. Act I, Scene 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry stares at the elf in front of him, his brow furrowed as he tries in vain to summon the resolve to tell Taako off, to make him stay here on the base where it’s safe, but there’s something about the desperation in Taako’s eyes and the set of his shoulders that makes Barry pause.

Barry stares at the elf in front of him, his brow furrowed as he tries in vain to summon the resolve to tell Taako off, to make him stay here on the base where it’s safe, but there’s something about the desperation in Taako’s eyes and the set of his shoulders that makes Barry pause. The faintest wave of deja vu leaves him queasy as he thinks, _I can never say ‘no’ when they look at me like that,_ but… that doesn’t make sense. Does it? He doesn’t know Taako, not really, and who the fuck is _they_? 

Gritting his teeth, he sets a gloved hand on Taako’s shoulder and gestures to the capsule behind him, summoning up all the menace that his bass voice can muster.

“Do you have any idea what’s down there, Taako? It isn’t safe. And the Director would kill me -- kill us _both_ , probably -- if I took you planet-side. It’s just… it’s a b-b-bad idea.”

“I don’t _care_ ,” Taako replies, straining to keep the whine out of his voice. “I’m going with you, and that’s final. Besides, what are you gonna do, truss me up like a harvest hog and leave me here for Avi to find? There’d be some real awkward questions asked, and I promise you won’t come out looking so hot when I tell Lucretia how you attacked me and left me for de--- hold up, are you _laughing_?”

Barry is, in fact, laughing, more deeply and genuinely than he has laughed in a very long time. The image of Taako, an elf armed only with a gods-damned _umbrella_ , who isn’t in the least bit afraid of Barry, the Bureau’s top Regulator, a man whose crimes are so terrible that no one on the base even knows their true extent, is absolutely ridiculous and, somehow, oddly refreshing.

“It’s just-- I’m s-s-sorry, Taako,” he wheezes, wiping the beginnings of a tear from the corner of his eye, “but y-you’re _threatening_ me and it’s h-h-hilarious. Do you have any idea who I am?”

“Yeah,” Taako says, clutching his umbrella and biting back the urge to chuckle, too, although the instinct strikes him as incongruous to the situation. “You’re the Regulator who’s getting me off this fucking ship. Now hurry up before...”

Whatever threat Taako may have been about to make is cut off abruptly by the sound of someone entering a password into the keycode access on the other side of the hangar. Taako barely has time to register the vibration of his umbrella as it squirms in his grip before Barry has an iron grip on his arm and Taako feels a cold, tingling sensation spread throughout his body from the place where the larger man’s fingers press into his flesh. Barry puts a finger to his lips to quell the protest that Taako half-yelps, and Taako has just enough presence of mind to grit his teeth together when Avi comes striding through the bay doors, skidding to a halt at the sight of Barry near the launch pad.

“Oh,” Avi exclaims, his voice pitched higher than Taako has ever heard it. “I didn’t-- that is, I didn’t know there were any departures scheduled for tonight.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Barry replies smoothly, stepping closer to Avi while simultaneously placing himself between Taako and the bemused human guard. “My orders just came through: an immediate threat planet-side that can’t wait.”

Avi gulps audibly and nods, his eyes flicking between Barry and the control panel for the pod docked a few feet away. “Sure, sure. It’s just, I’m usually the one in charge of the pods. Security and all that, you know how it is.”

“Would you like to wait for confirmation? I have my orders from the Director herself, but if you’d like to go through the _proper channels_ , I’m sure whatever bloodbath is happening down below can wait while we file the necessary paperwork.”

Barry’s voice is deceptively light, but just below the surface is a layer of ice and venom that surprises Taako and nearly unmans Avi whose hand instinctively reaches for his sword as the color drains from his face and he shakes his head quickly.

“N-n-no, that’s-- I’m sure everything’s in order. Do what you gotta do, man. I’ll get the cannon ready, shall I?”

“That,” Barry replies with the ghost of a grin and the barest glint of teeth, “would be incredibly kind.”

Avi scurries off to the adjacent control room to prep the cannon for launch, and Barry turns his back on Taako to plug in the coordinates of their destination into the side of their pod. The door on the side of the pod swings open soundlessly and Barry gestures with the smallest nod of his head for Taako to get in. As he does, Taako notices that Barry’s chest is heaving as if he’s just run a mile and his eyes, wide behind his glasses, are dark with fear. Taako is careful not to make any noise as he slips into the pod and takes one of the passenger seats, pulling the edges of his tunic around him and tucking his umbrella under his arm so that he takes up as little space as possible. Barry climbs in a moment later, his bulk filling the driver’s seat, and the pod door clicks shut as they begin the slow transition into the cannon.

Taako has never ridden in one of these pods -- not that he can remember, anyway, although he supposes he must have at some point, he had to get up to the base one way or another -- and he has no idea what to expect. He’s grateful when, out of the corner of his mouth, Barry mutters directions to him: _buckle up, sit up straight, close your eyes during takeoff, deep breaths_. His lips barely move, but Taako hears every word and he obeys without thinking because if you can’t trust a man who’s helping you sneak off a moon base without any explanation or actual incentive, who _can_ you trust?

Even with Barry’s warning, the velocity at take-off catches Taako by surprise. He’s flung against the back of his seat and he doesn’t even want to begin to think about what would have happened had he not tightened the straps on his seatbelt just moments before. The cannon flings them out into the dark abyss and there’s no telling what awaits them at the end of their descent, but for the first time in far too long, Taako feels really and truly alive.

As their descent slows to something akin to a controlled free fall, Taako feels the odd, cold tingling sensation subside, and when Barry turns to look at him, he feels certain that he is fully visible once again.

“That was incredibly quick thinking, my man,” Taako says, unbridled admiration in his voice. “I mean _seriously_ boss spell work. Where’d you learn that, anyway? That invisibility spell is, like, second level Wizard shit. I just assumed you were a Fighter or a Rogue -- all the other Regulators are.”

Barry shrugs, but beneath his nonchalance is an uncertainty that reveals itself in the way his eyes won’t meet Taako’s when he speaks. 

“Lucky for you, I’m a man of many talents. But a Fighter? No. I mean… sure, I fight when I have to, but I don’t think-- I don’t think that’s what I am, not really. It doesn’t feel right.”

“You’re a weird dude,” Taako mutters, and he might have said something more if his attention wasn’t immediately diverted by the view materializing outside the glass walls of their spherical transport. All around them is dark, the pitch blackness of night devoid of stars and the moon base far enough away as to be little more than a speck in the distance, but far below them, a spattering of light grows brighter as the outlines of towns and cities come into focus.

Even from this distance, Taako can tell there’s something wrong with the sight below. It should be easy to spot Neverwinter which he knows is somewhere to the south (he’s seen it on the big map in the Director’s office), but the lights which should denote a city seem little more than random pin pricks on the velvety black of the earth. As they descend further, a thick haze of something like smoke rises up to meet them, diluting the lights even further and making Taako withdraw from the window where he had previously been nose-to-glass, his breath creating a circle of condensation from his open-mouthed amazement.

“Dismal sight, isn’t it,” Barry says, more of an observation than a question. Taako nods, and before he can ask, Barry anticipates his question. 

“The Relic Wars have wiped out huge swaths of the population of Faerun. Cities like Neverwinter and Goldcliff -- where we’re heading -- used to be hubs of development and commerce, but now they’re more like refugee centers where the inhabitants eke out as much of a living as they can between attacks. The Bureau has been working to contain the damage, but it’s like fighting shadows: one moment they’re there, the next they’re gone. They’re crafty, these relics, and they don’t seem to care who they hurt as long as their power is being used. When one user fails, they move on to the next one and, more often than not, they leave a trail of corpses in their wake. The Reclaimers haven’t been able to bring one in yet, and it’s up the rest of us to… minimize the impact. Stop the threat at the source as best we can.”

“Eliminate the users,” Taako whispers, and Barry nods grimly.

They sit in silence for a few minutes as Barry fiddles with a lever and begins the landing sequence. As he sits, Taako tries to mesh the facts he’s been given with the few, scattered memories he has of his life before the moon base, but his thoughts dissolve into static and the harder he tries to remember and fails, the more frustrated he becomes. 

The faint, niggling pain of an oncoming headache forces him to take deep breaths; he hasn’t brought any of his medicine with him, and if he has an episode now, he has no idea what will happen. He can’t afford for that to happen, not now that he’s finally off the base. Not now that he’s about to get some _answers_.

The pod hits the ground with a little jolt, and as Taako hurries to unbuckle his seatbelt, he feels a hand on his shoulder. For the second time tonight, Barry looks scared, and it’s that fear in the other man’s eyes that makes Taako’s fingers still on the buckle.

“Listen, Taako,” Barry says, his voice quiet as he stares over the top of his glasses at the elf. “I don’t know what you’re looking for or what you hope to accomplish, but it’s dangerous out there. I don’t even know what we’re walking into, and I want your word that, as long as you’re with me, you’ll do as I say. If I tell you to duck, you duck. If I tell you to run, you damn well better hit the ground at full speed. Do you understand?”

Taako, who usually chafes under the demands of others, finds himself nodding, his grip on the umbrella tightening as he glances over Barry’s shoulder into the hazy darkness outside the pod. The handle feels unnaturally warm in his palm as Barry squeezes his shoulder, and when he releases Taako’s arm to disengage the pod’s lock mechanism, the umbrella twitches minutely in Taako’s grasp. 

The door of the pod swings open, and with a deep breath to steel his resolve, Taako follows Barry out into the shadows of an unnaturally silent night.


	7. Act I, Scene 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who the fuck are they?” Barry growls, eyes wide behind his glasses. He glances at Taako as if for an answer, but Taako merely shrugs: the dwarf and the human aren’t Bureau employees, that’s for sure, but when he tries to get a better look, a powerful wave of dizziness washes over him and he clings to the handle of his umbrella to keep from falling over.

Goldcliff is silent, eerily so. It’s uncanny for a city this large; it’s the middle of the night, but there should still be some foot traffic on the roads, wagons bustling along on belated business, bakeries prepping for the morning rush. And yet, every door they pass is bolted shut, every window barred and shuttered. There are lights shining weakly through the boards of half a dozen homes, watery-yellow candlelight and the sharp glow of oil lamps, but as Taako and Barry walk past, they are extinguished immediately and shadows take their place as though they had never been. Even the whoosh of wind kicking up dust in the road ahead of them seems muted. The whole scene sends shivers down Taako’s spine, and he finds himself walking closer to Barry until he’s practically disappeared into the larger man’s shadow.

If Barry notices, he doesn’t say a word: he’s too busy pressing buttons on his bracer, his fingers moving deftly over the commands as he scans the empty street and curses under his breath at whatever answers the gadget isn’t providing. He presses another button and a bright blue hologram materializes in the air over his arm, spinning amorphously for a moment before resolving itself into the shape of a map. It appears to be a street view of Goldcliff, a tiny gold dot pulsing at the center of the intersection where Barry and Taako have paused. A few streets away, a crimson star hovers next to the outline of the Goldcliff Trust, and Barry’s breath hisses sharply through clenched teeth.

“It’s close,” he whispers, tapping his bracer and dismissing the hologram. His gloved hands flex at his side as he rolls his shoulders back and glances down at Taako. “Last chance to head back to the transport. You could wait for me there.”

Taako is about to respond when he notices the gleam of wild excitement in Barry’s eyes. He’s practically vibrating with nerves, but there’s absolutely no doubt in Taako’s mind that Barry relishes the prospect of the fight ahead, and this both thrills and horrifies Taako, reminding him, just for a moment, who he’s actually traveling with. For all Barry acts like he’s doing this job for the greater good, that he’s just following orders, part of him is drawn to that bright red dot like filament on a magnet, and Taako isn’t sure whether it’s the promise of a challenge of an actual thirst for violence that Barry desires. He isn’t sure he wants to know.

Shivering, Taako shakes his head and steels his resolve.

“I’m going with you. It feels… right, somehow. And I’m definitely not going back to wait at the pod just so I can be ambushed by some psycho locals with their pitchforks while you’re off playing hero. Nuh-uh. Taako’s good right here.”

Barry nods, smiling, and he seems about to say something before the sound of an explosion so close at hand that it shakes the ground beneath their feet cuts him off. Without a word, he pulls a wand from the pocket of his black leather duster and runs down the street with Taako fast on his heels. As they round the corner, a massive vine crashes down into the road a few yards ahead of them and gouges a rent in the cobblestones before retracting into itself, spiked tendrils dripping debris in a deafening cascade as it retreats. They hear shouts from at least two voices and the sound of metal thwacking into something dense and meaty, and a moment later, a flash of pure white light blinds them as a deep, rasping voice calls out the words of a spell. Taako and Barry round the corner in time to see a white-haired dwarven man wielding a large tome duck out of the way of a retaliatory blow from another whiplike vine as a tall, muscular man with impressive sideburns throws out his shield to guard the dwarf’s retreat.

“Who the _fuck_ are they?” Barry growls, eyes wide behind his glasses. He glances at Taako as if for an answer, but Taako merely shrugs: the dwarf and the human aren’t Bureau employees, that’s for sure, but when he tries to get a better look, a powerful wave of dizziness washes over him and he clings to the handle of his umbrella to keep from falling over.

“SLOANE, STOP!”

There’s a halfling woman in monk’s robes fighting besides the two men, and as Taako and Barry watch, she throws herself between the flailing vine and its intended victims. The vine freezes in mid-air, juddering to a stop mere inches from the halfling’s face before withdrawing to join a writhing mass of what Barry can only describe as demonic flora encircling the levitating shape of a half-elf woman in a raven mask with black voids where her eyes should be.

“This isn’t _you_ ,” the halfling woman sobs, one arm outstretched towards the woman in the mask. The human man looms up behind her and places one hand on her shoulder as the other readies an axe. The dwarven man flips madly through the pages of his book, and when he looks up to ask his companions a question, his eyes fall on Barry and Taako and his face goes as white as the parchment in his hand.

“T-T-Taako?” he rasps, clutching his chest with his free hand. “ _Barry_? Is that -- how -- you’re _alive_?” He gapes, sputtering, and throws a wild look at the human man. “Magnus, _look_!”

The man turns in their direction and does a literal double-take, nearly dropping his axe in the process.

“Holy _shit_! Barry! Taako! It is so good to see you! _Fuck_ , where have you b---?”

_“ENOUGH!”_

An inhuman voice screeches from the center of the mass of vines as shining black thorns sprout along the length of each thrashing tendril.

_“Enough of this talking. You think you can take the sash from me? Come and get it, puny mortals. No one can stand against me, NO ONE!”_

A dozen vines shoot from the half-elf woman’s outstretched fingers. One passes so close to Taako’s face that he can feel the air sing as it nearly grazes his cheek, and Barry is barely able to leap out of the way of a second. The Regulator lands on his feet with surprising agility for someone of his stature, and Barry immediately brandishes his wand, electric blue bolts of lightning crackling to life as he mutters the incantation. The spell hits one of the vines, and the sizzle of ozone gives the air a momentary metallic taste. The half-elf woman screeches as the vine disintegrates, but the victory is short-lived as another, thicker tendril materializes to take its place.

Meanwhile, the human man and the halfling woman fight side-by-side, his axe cutting a path through the tangle of vines as the halfling deflects blows with powerful blasts of energy that radiate from her clasped hands. Neither of them notices the thick, thorny vine slithering snake-like behind them, its deadly black thorns glinting dangerously in the moonlight as it prepares to strike.

Before he quite knows what he’s doing, there are words on his lips that Taako barely recognizes as a spell, and the umbrella in his hand jumps to attention, extending in front of him like a great, red homing beacon. A surge of power flows from his fingertips and down the length of the umbrella, lighting up a series of runes on the handle that he has never noticed before as the magic rushes out and away. Flames light up the night, taking the shape of a massive bird flexing its wings in triumph as it rockets towards the vine that is seconds away from taking out both the man and the halfling woman. Taako sees the horror on their faces as they dive out of the way, but the vine isn’t so lucky, and his aim is true. The flames engulf the vine and lick their way greedily along its length, stopping only at the feet of the half-elf woman who screams nevertheless, drawing one hand back as though scalded and turning her empty gaze on Taako.

Barry knows what’s about to happen half a second before it actually does. He doesn’t hesitate: his boots pound the pavement as he sprints to close the distance between himself and Taako and, with as much strength as he can muster, he pushes the elf out of the way of three whip-like vines that are slicing through the air with the sort of precision that would impress Barry in just about any other situation. He can hear the air rush out of Taako’s lungs as his hands hit him square in the chest and he almost apologizes as the elf crashes into the side of a building a few feet away, but the words die halfway up Barry’s throat as the vines meant for Taako curl around his body and a dozen razor-sharp thorns pierce through his leather jacket and into the soft flesh of his upper arm, his hip, his stomach, his thigh. 

Distantly, he hears the human man yell his name ( _how does he know?_ ) and sees the flash of another spell flying from the dwarf’s book, but it’s too late. Barry can feel the venom mingling with his blood, shooting through his veins like molten steel swirling in a crucible. The parts of his body not encased in vines spasm from the pain before going totally limp, and his mouth opens to scream, but no sound comes out. His glasses are shattered, the wire frame slumped askew on his nose, but he can see Taako stir in the rubble, and with his last coherent thought, Barry thanks whatever gods may be that the elf is still alive.

_It’s a good thing, too,_ he thinks dimly as the world goes red around the edges. _Lup would never forgive me if I accidentally killed her brother._

_Lup…_

_Lup!!_

His lips form her name over and over again even as they turn blue from the silverpoint venom. The last of the air wheezes out of his lungs, and he is engulfed in darkness.

.

..

…

….

…..

……  
…..

….

…

..

.

Fire burns deep in his bones and the taste of copper and ashes fills his mouth as something like consciousness returns to Barry who is, apparently, not dead after all. 

The sounds of battle continue to rage on around him, but they’re faint, distant, as though he’s separated from them by a wall of concrete. He can’t open his eyes, but images play out on his eyelids like miniature explosions of revelation as he remembers -- finally and completely -- who he is and what he has lost.

_Magnus, his friend and sometimes protector, sharpens his axe on the deck of the Starblaster as he recounts stories of his childhood to make Barry laugh when the memory of their home world wiped from existence is still fresh enough to ache._

_Merle stands in the midst of his greenhouse, shears gleaming in the light of a million stars overhead. Flowers from a dozen different planes of existence bloom from the tangled nest of his beard as he flits in between rows of flora, snipping off samples for Barry’s experiments._

_Davenport mans the helm of the Starblaster, his captain’s hat perfectly positioned on his head, epaulets neatly brushed, coat buttons gleaming. He points out towards the horizon, navigating constellations and charting their course through unfamiliar skies._

_Taako holds court in the kitchen, a knife in one hand as he chops vegetables at a speed that makes Barry queasy. Chunks of carrot, potato, and turnip fly into the pot simmering on the stove a few feet away as a shimmering Mage Hand stirs the bubbling broth of Barry’s favorite stew._

_Lup stands over their bed in the half-light of dawn, leaning down to kiss him gently on the forehead. He’s only partially awake, his eyes barely open, but he can see the curves of her body as she moves away from him, can smell the spicy scent that lingers on her skin, even as he drifts back to sleep._

_Lucretia bends over one of her notebooks, ink-stained fingers gripping the third quill pen she’s sharpened that day, scrawling their adventures across the pages in complicated shorthand. She pauses occasionally to brush a dark curl from her face, and she smiles up at Barry as he offers her a cup of black coffee._

_Lucretia…_

The image of her youthful face fades as Barry’s mind attempts to acquaint it with the present reality of the Director: bright, inquisitive eyes harden into pools of pitch; rumpled red robes morph into pristine blue gowns; the ready smile tips down into a hard frown lined with wrinkles incongruous to her age. Something in Barry breaks, painfully and audibly, as his heart stutters to a stop and his soul compresses inside his already-cooling body, tangled tendrils of spirit roiling around a core of anger and confusion.

_She did this_ , he thinks, and the shock of that horrible realization propels his spectral form from its cage of flesh and bone. 

And he _remembers_.

He remembers sitting hunched over a table in the Starblaster’s common room, pouring over a set of maps for the fifth time that day, his eyes drooping with exhaustion as he tried desperately not to think about what would happen if Lup never came back from her mission. She and Lucretia had left over a week ago on a secret mission, slipped away in the night without a word. Something was wrong, he knew it, but their stones of farspeech weren’t working, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t figure out where they had gone. 

Taako was there at his side, fingers screwed up in his hair as he insisted on checking the maps _just one more time._ Barry hadn’t had the heart to say no, and he was about to unfurl the large scale drawing of Neverwinter when the door of the common room opened and Lucretia stepped across the threshold. His glasses had fallen from his face in his excitement as he leapt from his seat, pulled Lucretia into a hug… only then realizing that she was alone, his mind refusing to consider what that meant.

_I’m so sorry,_ she had said, and behind him, Taako had begun to wail. His own chest had felt too tight, his breath too shallow, and he had clutched at Lucretia’s robes as the ground seemed to lurch beneath his feet.

_It was an accident,_ Lucretia said. _I tried to protect her, but she didn’t listen. I couldn’t bring her body back. I’m so sorry, Barry. Taako, I-- we’ll find a way to fix this. I can--I can fix this. I promise, I’ll make it right. Please believe me._

She had helped Barry back to his seat where he had slumped against the back of the chair numbly. Taako’s cries had dissolved into gasping moans, and Lucretia offered him a mug of -- tea? coffee? -- that he batted away with shaking hands.

_Drink this_ , she had insisted. _It will make you feel better. You can sleep for a while and I’ll make everything better. You’ll see. Trust me, Taako._

Barry watched as Taako stopped fighting, his face contorted with grief as he accepted the mug and threw back its contents, staring at Lucretia with a terrible mixture of hope and resignation. Moments later, the tension drained from his body and his eyes drifted shut as Lucretia helped to ease his body onto the ground gently where he curled into himself on the cool tile floor.

_What did you give him,_ Barry had asked, suddenly aware that something was wrong. 

_Just something to help him… help him forget. For a little while. Until I can fix this._

_You can’t fix this, Lucretia,_ Barry had said, his voice rising towards a shout. _This plane was our last hope, and now you tell us that Lup is gone and-- wait a minute. We’re fucking_ liches, _Lucretia. If Lup had died, she’d still be here right now! She would have come back to me no matter what. What the hell is going on? What did you--_

A sharp prick in the back of his neck made him jump, but gravity pulled him back down with terrible finality as his limbs went suddenly weak.

_It’s for the best,_ Lucretia had said, and from his place on the floor, he watched her slip the cap onto a syringe dripping shining blue liquid. He noticed for the first time that her already-red robes were caked with dark, crimson blood and poking out of her pocket was the tip of the white bone wand that Barry had fashioned himself seven cycles ago for...

For someone special…

For someone he loved…

Someone...

_Who?_

_I’m so sorry, Barry,_ Lucretia said, stooping down to straighten his glasses where they’d fallen down his nose. _She wouldn’t listen. I didn’t mean to do it, but she left me no choice._

Barry remembers fading out of consciousness with that question echoing in his mind.

_Who? Who? Whowhowhowhowhowhowhowho?_

The answer radiates out of every inch of Barry’s spectral form as rage unhinges him, sending dirt and debris skittering away in every direction as waves of power fly from his clenched fists and white-hot flames drip from his eyes like tears.

Lucretia did this to him. Lucretia took Lup and his memories away. Lucretia kept Barry locked away, scared and confused, until she was ready to use him, turned him into a regulator for her accursed Bureau, made him hunt down the victims of their own well-meaning hubris. And all the while, she had told him that _he_ had killed Lup, killed their family, deserved to suffer. And he had _believed_ her. He had _trusted_ her.

He would not make that mistake again.


	8. Act II, Scene 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taako’s eyes flutter open just in time to see the half-elven woman, tears streaming past her mask and down her cheeks, ripping off the belt tied around her waist. She holds it out, and the dwarven man steps forward and takes it from her. The human’s eyes are trained on Barry’s crumpled figure.

A sickening _crack_ reverberates through Taako as his body smashes into the building and for a moment, everything is gone except darkness and a ringing in his ears. 

Slowly, a voice breaks through. 

“-- _killed_ him. I-I killed someone--” 

“It wasn’t you, Sloane! It was that sash--” 

Taako’s eyes flutter open just in time to see the half-elven woman, tears streaming past her mask and down her cheeks, ripping off the belt tied around her waist. She holds it out, and the dwarven man steps forward and takes it from her. The human’s eyes are trained on Barry’s crumpled figure. 

“Don’t… Don’t let this happen again to someone else. Please.” 

The dwarf doesn’t get the chance to speak. He’s interrupted by a guttural scream as something red and burning shoots out from Barry’s corpse. 

The human man rushes forward, stepping between the shape and the half-elf. “You need to get out of here. Now.” 

The crimson figure is flickering now. Red energy shoots off of it in waves, tearing up the ground beneath them. The halfling woman grabs the hand of the half-elf, and they sprint down an alley and out of sight. 

Taako thinks distantly that he should do the same, but everything just _hurts_. An attempt at moving sends agony rocketing through his head, and he falls back against the building with a whimper. 

The red form takes on a more concrete shape. A humanoid figure, draped in a cloak. A hood barely obscuring a skull crying tears of flames. 

And then, it begins to speak. 

_“She did this to me! To us! To Lup!”_

A new, vaguely-familiar wave of pain surges through Taako’s body. 

_“She needs to pay.”_

The hooded figure rockets upwards into the sky, and for a brief moment, Taako finds himself in silence. 

The human and dwarf are at his side in an instant. Rough hands gently probe at his head. A few soft words are followed by a flash of light, and the ache in Taako’s head clears. 

There’s still a pounding at the base of his skull--something that goes deeper than just _pain_ \--but Taako brushes that aside. 

“Do you know who we are?” 

Taako looks up at the man as he speaks. Everything feels fuzzy. “No,” Taako answers numbly, “Why would I?”

The man deflates. “Because you’ve known us for a long time.” 

Another pang sweeps through Taako’s head, this one more familiar. He fumbles with his robes as he searches for the one thing he knows will help. 

The dwarf grabs his wrists loosely. “Easy, there. What’re you looking for?”

Taako rips his arms away. “My medicine,” he hisses back, jabbing a hand into his pockets. 

“Medicine? For what?” 

He doesn’t have time for this. His head aches. This is too much. “For my head,” he growls through clenched teeth, “I’m sick.” 

His pockets are empty. Lucretia hadn’t had the chance to give him more before he ran away. 

“You’re not sick.” 

The dwarf says it with such conviction that Taako freezes. For a brief moment, he believes it. But the next wave of pain is enough to shake that thought from his mind. 

Before he can snap back, the man speaks. “Let’s just start over, okay? My name is Magnus, and this is Merle. He’s a healer. Let us help you.” 

Taako shakes his head. It’s suspicious, to say the least: two strangers appearing out of nowhere, fighting for a relic, pretending to know who he is. 

But then the reality of the situation sinks in. If he goes back to the Bureau, he has to face Lucretia. He has to tell her he directly disobeyed her and got her best Reclaimer killed. That he turned into some sort of monster screaming about revenge. 

The two in front of him are offering to help. They know his name. And they have a relic. 

“Fine,” Taako huffs, as if he has another option.

Magnus gives him a hand up. “We’ve gotta get going. It isn’t safe for us to hang around here. Our base isn’t too far away. Can you walk?”

Taako only accepts the hand because he doesn’t think he can stand on his own. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Magnus and Merle lead the way through the still-deserted streets of Neverwinter. The number of buildings thins out until they are only passing the occasional house. The broken stone turns to gravel and then dirt under their feet. The two whisper to each other every now and then, but Taako is too busy trying to walk straight to focus on what they’re saying. 

Finally, Magnus and Merle come to a stop. In front of them is a small cave opening hidden among the branches and bramble. 

“Home sweet home,” Magnus beams as he ducks inside. Merle waddles after him and, after a moment, Taako follows. 

The cave is well-lit. Maps or drawings or string and pins connecting things together cover every surface. 

Merle tosses the sash onto a cluttered table and heads towards a bookshelf. “I think I know the spell I need to fix you up. Just gimme a second to find it.” 

Taako busies himself by examining the paper strung up around the room. He recognizes a few sketches of the sash, but others are less familiar--a stone, a gauntlet, a bell. 

“What are you doing with them?” Taako asks. 

Magnus shrugs as he steps to stand beside him. “Hiding them again. We don’t want them hurting people, but they need to be out there.”

“Why?”

Magnus sighs. “You’ll know soon enough.” 

“I got it!” Merle makes his way back to them, an open tome in his hands. “Alright, Taako. Just stand still.” 

He reads the words on the page in front of him--words in a language Taako doesn’t understand. But the spell seems to work regardless; Taako finds himself glowing, for just a moment, and then the fog begins to lift. 

Magnus. Merle. He _knows_ them. 

But he doesn’t have time to dwell on this realization before his bracer lights up. Lucretia’s face appears in the air in front of him, the picture of fury. “Taako,” she snaps, “Where _are_ you?! I told you to stay in your room!”

And Taako remembers. Not everything, not yet, but enough. 

He knew Lucretia before, too. 

“I followed Barry,” he tells her, “And I found Magnus and Merle.”


	9. Act II, Scene 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She remembers the exact moment Lup died.

_“I found Magnus and Merle.”_

Lucretia’s ears are ringing. Does that mean he remembers? 

No. He can’t remember _everything_ \-- or else he’d be a lot angrier. 

The grip on her staff tightens. She needs to get him away from them before it’s too late.

She swallows. 

“Come home, Taako,” she pleads. “I can explain everything once you’re here. It’ll all make sense. I promise.”

He cuts off the call without a response.

Lucretia doesn’t know whether or not to take that as a good sign.

She walks over to the window in her office that overlooks Faerún, her hands grasped tightly on her back.

She just needs to think. If Taako comes back, she can dose him with more Ichor. Magnus and Merle, too, if she has too. She has the whole Bureau at her disposal—outnumbering them wouldn’t be an issue.

Her eye is drawn to a blur of red shooting upwards from Neverwinter. With each passing second, it seems to get closer. And closer. Almost as if…

No. It can’t be. He couldn’t have failed.

Fighting off a wave of panic, Lucretia redials Taako on her comms. The call goes through automatically, just as it was designed to.

“Where’s Barry?” Her voice is cold and even despite the pounding in her chest. She can’t let weakness slip through.

Taako doesn’t answer.

“Taako, _where’s Barry_?”

“He… the Relic killed him. I hit my head, but I thought—”

Lucretia ends the call. She doesn’t have time for this.

He’s coming.

Desperately, she dials for Avi. “We’re about to be under attack. Get the shields up. I need everything on lockdown. _Now_.”

She ends the call before Avi has a chance to ask questions. Before long, arcane force fields flicker to life around the Bureau building.

With each passing second, the red figure grows closer.

She doesn’t have much time. The shields won’t hold forever.

He’s going to kill her.

At least, he’s going to try.

She has one more trick up her sleeve. A wave of calm washes over her as she summons a secret chest back from the ethereal plane. Inside is a golden gauntlet, inlaid with sparkling red gems, its polish bright though it hasn’t seen the light of day in years.

It would chase Barry away. It would _end_ Barry, if she let it. 

She holds it gingerly in one hand. And as her eyes trace along its shape, as Barry grows ever closer, she lets herself remember.

She can’t recall why she tagged along with Lup in the first place. She only remembers that once she saw the Gauntlet, it all made sense. It pulled at something deep within her, a primal, guttural longing she hadn’t known she had the capacity to feel. She knew she needed it more than she needed air. 

She tried to convince Lup first. It _belonged_ with her. She could keep it safe. No one else would ever find it on the ship.

Lup had trusted her. Not enough to let her take the Gauntlet home, but enough. Why would she have any reason to doubt her? To doubt the purpose of the knife strapped to her side?

She remembers Lup’s back to her. She remembers how easy it was to slide the knife through her robe, even as a part of her begged, _No, no, please--_

Lup didn’t scream -- it was more like a desperate attempt for air as her body crumpled to the ground, limp and lifeless. Lucretia sank with her, gathered her up in her arms. I’m so sorry. Tears fell from her cheeks onto Lup’s ruined cloak. _I tried to convince you. I’m so sorry._

She remembers the exact moment Lup died. And she remembers the moment after, as well: the moment she had forgotten to expect, when a bolt of red shook free of her corporeal form and turned to face Lucretia, tears of flame falling from her skeletal eyes. The umbrastaff rattled where it fell from Lup’s grasp.

_Lucretia--_

But before she could finish, the umbrastaff had flipped inside out and sucked her in. 

And Lucretia was left alone. 

She can’t get Barry to understand. She knows she’s going to have to face him head-on. 

_One of us will be joining Lup soon,_ she thinks. 


	10. Act II, Scene 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bureau base looms larger and larger, the pale orb like the bead of a target in the sharp precision of his sight. The closer he comes, the hotter his rage burns deep within the empty void where his heart should be...

Barry is hundreds of feet above Goldcliff, every molecule of his being a riot of sensations as the cool night air gives way to frigid atmosphere and thick, black nothingness. For one brief moment, his fury gives way to the heady rush of flight -- until he feels his spectral hand reach out for Lup’s, and the moment disappears in a flash of orange flames that radiate from his clenched fists and streak through the air behind him like the tail of a vengeful comet.

The Bureau base looms larger and larger, the pale orb like the bead of a target in the sharp precision of his sight. The closer he comes, the hotter his rage burns deep within the empty void where his heart should be, and he imagines Lucretia watching him from the huge observatory window in her office. He can see her in his mind’s eye, cowering behind her desk, struck dumb by the revelation of her guilt laid bare, and a wild cackle bubbles from his mouth as he considers delivering his unique brand of justice to the Director for once. 

_ The Director _ . 

The arrogance of that title festers within him like a canker. Who would have thought that Lucretia -- timid, quiet, scrupulous  _ Lucretia _ with her journals and her hard-earned smile -- could be the source of so much destruction, so much pain? For seven years, she has kept him in thrall, beat him down with her lies about his imagined offenses, looked down her nose at him with disgust, called him a  _ murderer _ when Lup’s blood has been on her hands all along.

He doesn’t care how it happened. He doesn’t even want to know why. All he cares about is hearing the truth of her crime from her own lips before he makes her feel every ounce of pain that she’s inflicted on him since the day she took away his identity and locked him away, broken and confused, in the Bureau prisons.

As he approaches the force fields crackling with pale, blue energy around the circumference of the Base, a small part of him rankles at the thought that what he is considering will justify every whisper that has followed him since he took on the position of Regulator. 

_ Monster _ , they call him, and not even behind his back.

_ Fine _ , he thinks, a manic smile twisting within the shadow of his hood.  _ Let the monster rise. _

Barry hovers in the air inches from the force field as he conjures up two identical spheres of crimson energy in each palm: they pulse in his hands, twin stars of burning malice that he presses into the barrier with the force of a sea squall. The force field shudders as it is consumed by the waves of his attack until it finally convulses weakly and flickers into nothingness, the only thing between him and his revenge the sound of screams no longer hidden behind the shield.

**********************************************

As the walls of the forcefield are shred into sparkly glints of nothingness, the Bureau Base is laid bare in all its chaotic, frenzied glory. For a few moments, Barry hovers in the air above, content to watch the tiny figures below run for cover, shouting half-formed instructions and shrill words of warnings as they look for a safe place to weather the attack. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a blue-suited guard aiming a firing cannon skyward; with a chuckle, Barry clenches his fist and watches as tapered muzzle crumples like so much tinfoil. The guard stumbles backwards, tripping over his tunic, before crawling on his hands and knees to the nearest door and scrambling out of sight. 

As Barry swoops down towards the large, open courtyard in the center of the base, a few wizards in enchanted battle armor aim curses at his flickering form. Beams of yellow and green shoot through the night sky only to be deflected by a huge, spectral shield that Barry conjures with a flick of his wrist. The light swirls around the surface of the shield, convalescing into a sickly sphere of neon green that he hurls back down at them. They manage to dive out of the way, but the blast gouges a crater out of the asphalt of the courtyard, sending great chunks of rubble skittering after the fleeing wizards. Barry lands in the middle of the smoking crater, hands outstretched. 

He is so  _ powerful. _ He could do  _ anything _ , fight  _ anyone.  _

_ They’re right to be scared _ , he thinks. But there’s only one person who he truly wants to fight: everyone else is merely standing in the way.

Barry soars across the courtyard, an eerie silence in his wake. He knows this complex like the back of his hand; he’s spent enough sleepless nights wandering its halls to know all of its twists and turns. Lucretia will have set her guards along the corridors leading to her office, but he’s fairly certain that no one but he knows about the abandoned passageway that skirts the training courts and dips into the interior of the Base before coming up just below the Director’s suite. He discovered it during one of his late-night rovings, and he’s never met another living soul along its decrepit span, likely due to the fact that debris has made it almost impassable in places and the lack of light and caved-in wall panels makes it treacherous to traverse even with a torch. With any luck, she won’t see him coming.

The klaxon of alarm bells wail around him as he pummels through locked doors, knocking aside decks, chairs, filing cabinets, weapon stands, everything that insists on remaining stubbornly stationary in his path. It’s almost  _ too  _ easy in this form, with magic literally coursing through his veins, to disable the paltry traps and decoys that have been set up to stymie him. He meets with little resistance, dispatching patrols of guards with their ineffective swords and spears with as little effort as he would swat aside a fly. Within minutes, he’s soaring along the abandoned passageway, the walls blasting away from him until the steel panels are convex, buckled by the force of his aura. It’s noisy, but he isn’t worried: by the time they figure out where he’s gone, it will be too late to save her.

Barry slows as he reaches the end of the passageway. The trapdoor above which leads into the Director’s personal foyer is slightly ajar as though someone had recently come through it and, in their haste, been unable to fit the hatch back into place properly. A growl grows deep in his throat as he prepares a spell for whoever waits on the other side, ready to blast aside the fool who would dare attempt to thwart his plan. He throws the trapdoor aside with one hand and does not wait to hear it clatter to the ground several feet away before launching himself up through the opening with a primal scream.

“Hello, sir.”

Barry draws up short at the familiar voice, and his gaze sinks to take in the impossibly small form of Angus McDonald, the Bureau’s youngest member and the very last person Barry expected to see. The boy’s voice is softer than usual, and there’s an almost indistinguishable stutter in the address, but his wand is pointed straight at Barry’s chest and his hand is remarkably still.

“What are you doing here, Angus?”

Barry barely recognizes his own voice, laced as it is with static and the crackle of feral magic. Angus flinches minutely but stands his ground, staring up at Barry with his already-preternaturally large eyes magnified behind his glasses.

“I knew you would be coming here eventually,” he says, “and I thought you might use the secret passageway. The Director told me to stay in my room, but I wanted to help, so…”

For the first time, Angus looks unsure of himself, and the lurch of something like sympathy causes Barry’s spectral form to shiver. He doesn’t know the boy well, but he’s familiar with his reputation as a Seeker; he’s read the incredibly detailed reports he’s written up for Barry’s case files, and he remembers more than anything that Angus is one of the few Bureau employees who treats Barry like a human being. Of course he knows about the passageway: nothing gets past the self-proclaimed “World’s Greatest Detective.”

“This doesn’t concern you,” Barry says, his voice strained by a mix of irritation and unease. “Get out of here before you get hurt. Leave the Director to me.”

“I can’t do that, sir,” Angus replies, his face paling minutely even as he squares his shoulders. 

“I don’t understand exactly what’s going on, but I know you’re here to hurt the Director. I heard her talking to Mr. Taako over her comm unit. She didn’t know I was there or she would have sent me away, but… he sounded really angry, and he said something about knowing the truth. She asked him what happened to you and he said you had died, but when she cut off the connection I heard her say, ‘He’s coming’ before she called for the guards. She sounded scared, and I knew that something was wrong when the sensors detected an incoming lich. Please, sir -- I know that I can help if you’ll just give me the chance. Can’t we find another way to solve this?”

_ Well, isn’t that just the fucking cutest? _

The sound of Lup’s voice echoes in Barry’s ears so clearly he could swear she was standing right next to him., the memory of her fingers squeezing his shoulder and the faint smell of her perfume ghosting past his face. For the briefest of moments, she’s with him again, and he knows that Angus is right, that Lup wouldn’t want him to kill for her -- not without knowing the whole truth, and certainly not if it means putting this child in harm’s way. He swallows as he stares down at the ball of blue flame he’s clutching in his right hand, ashamed to think that he was ready to use it without a moment’s hesitation on whoever got in his way.

_ This isn’t right, _ he thinks.  _ Maybe there’s another way. Maybe _ ...

He’s lowering the hand with the prepared spell when the crossbow bolt strikes him right in the place where his heart should be. He screams in pain and shock as the enchanted dart sends a white-hot current down his right arm, the spell he’s clutching flying from his grasp and hurtling straight at Angus.


	11. Act II, Scene 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For one fleeting moment, Barry considers surrendering.

It’s too late to recall the spell. A comet of blue fire soars from Barry’s fingertips and flies towards Angus who remains rooted to the spot, the light from the deadly missile reflected in his wide lenses. Barry knows that he can’t possibly conjure a shield fast enough, but the words start to form anyway, useless syllables of belated mercy that will never reach the boy in time…

But when the missile hits, Angus isn’t there. A commotion a few feet away reveals a tangle of limbs as Carey Fangbattle pulls herself to her feet, shielding a groaning Angus with her body, the end of a rope in her hand. Despite a gash across her face and a livid bruise already blooming across her shoulder where she knocked Angus to safety, she crouches into a defense-ready position and glares up at Barry with fangs bared.

“I always knew you were scum,” she hisses, “but attacking a child? That’s low -- even for a murderer like you, Bluejeans.”

“No, I…” Barry stammers, his voice tinged with pain as he gropes for the bolt that remains stubbornly lodged in his phantasmal chest. “I didn’t mean… I wasn’t trying to…”

“Surrender now,” Killian’s voice booms from the doorway where she stands, crossbow in hand and primed with another bolt. “There’s no way out. It’s over.”

For one fleeting moment, Barry considers surrendering. He didn’t mean to hurt Angus, and no one else should have to suffer in his quest for revenge. It isn’t right, that’s not who he is…

But then he sees a flash of royal blue in the doorway behind Killian and he knows that the Director is there, hiding in the shadows, allowing others to fight her battle for her, and Barry screams. It’s a horrible sound, like vast nails on a celestial chalkboard, and the waves of force that ricochet around the room in its wake send Carey and Killian to their knees, their hands pressed painfully over their ears. Barry reaches up and yanks the bolt from his chest, a gout of sizzling fire spraying from the wound as he tosses the dart to the ground and flies to the open doorway. As he crosses the threshold, the portal clangs shut behind him with terrible finality and he hovers in the middle of the room, casting his gaze around for Lucretia.

She’s standing in front of the massive aquarium, her back pressed to the glass. Barry is too focused on the fact that he finally has her to himself to spare a glance for the tank that has, in all his time at the Bureau, stood empty and useless in the Director’s office… 

Except it isn’t empty. It never has been. Floating listlessly in the filthy water is the familiar form of Fisher, its body swollen and distorted, its tentacles tiny in comparison to its corpulent bell. As Barry gapes in horror, one of its tendrils rises sluggishly to press itself against the glass only to slip off again as though the effort is too much to bear.

“What have you _done_?”

Lucretia flinches at the rasp of Barry’s voice and tugs her cloak even tighter around her body with one hand as though it were a shield. Her face is drawn and her eyes are huge as she watches the lich hover mere feet away.

“What I had to,” she replies, her voice barely a whisper. “Lup wouldn’t listen, and I knew the rest of you wouldn’t, either.”

Barry trembles with anger, his hands balled into skeletal fists at his side.

“So you used Fisher’s ichor to make us forget,” he hisses. It isn’t a question. Everything seems so ridiculously clear now: the tea she made for Taako on the ‘Blaster when she came back without Lup, the prick in his neck as darkness blotted out his tears, the “medicine” that Taako insisted he needed even though he wasn’t sick.

“You stole _everything_ from me. From _all_ of us! And for _what_? Why did you betray us?”

“I never meant to hurt anyone,” Lucretia pleads, her eyes filling with tears. “The Relic -- it _called_ to me, Barry, and I knew that I could control it. Our plan was bound to fail; hiding them would never work, but Lup wouldn’t listen and I had to _do something_. It was the only way!”

“So you killed her??”

“I’m sorry,” Lucretia cries, and her body crumples to the floor, her cloak pooling around her prone form like a vast puddle. “I’m so sorry.”

Barry’s entire form is shaking, and it takes every ounce of willpower he has to keep himself from literally falling apart. He can feel the fabric of his being ripping at the seams, the raw magic at his core reaching critical mass, and it’s all he can do to keep from imploding. At his feet, Lucretia whimpers as bolts of white-hot lightning lash the air inches from her face.

“But it just doesn’t make _sense_ ,” Barry growls, shaking his head and floating unconsciously towards the ground. “Lup and I -- we’re _liches_ , Lucretia. Even if you killed her, she would have come back to me. She-- she _always_ comes back to me! Unless…”

The truth comes to him then accompanied by a full-body ache that has nothing to do with the pulsating crossbow bolt wound still suppurating in his chest. 

_The umbrella._

The umbrastaff was designed to consume the magic items of defeated foes. In her lich form, Lup would be indistinguishable from a wand, magic incarnate. Lucretia had said she couldn’t bring back Lup’s body, but she _did_ bring her back, Barry realizes now -- she brought back the umbrastaff, and it’s been right here -- _she_ has been right here -- under his nose the whole time. Seven years and he was _so close_.

Tears of searing, violet flame leak from Barry’s eyes as he clutches trembling fists to his face and fights the urge to sob. There’s sorrow there, and desperation, and layers upon layers of regret tinged with bitterness -- but for the first time in a long time, there’s also hope, and it’s that more than anything that impels Barry to action at last.

“We have to find Taako,” he says, his voice choked with emotion as he casts about for the quickest route of egress. “It’s not too late. We’ll find a way to bring Lup back, and then we’ll hide the Relics and start over. It’s not too late, Lucretia. We can make this right. _We have to make this right._ ”

He’s halfway to the door when he feels the heat centered like a target on his back. It singes his cloak and sends tendrils of acrid smoke into his eyes. He knows instinctively what he will see before he turns around, but the sight of Lucretia crouched before Fisher’s tank still manages to draw him up short. 

Her teeth are bared and her eyes are ablaze, lit from behind by a feral gleam that would be at home in the calculating gaze of some fanged, blood-thirsty predator. Her right fist is extended in front of her, armored in bronze and studded in rubies. The Phoenix Fire Gauntlet, previously hidden in the folds of her cloak, glistens in the light of the wall sconces, wildfire leaking from the hinges in the plate metal as she flexes her fingers to point at Barry.

“That,” she says, her voice a deep, menacing purr, “is never going to happen.”


	12. Act II, Scene 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hologram containing Lucretia’s scowl fades away as the call ends, and Taako raises his gaze to meet Magnus’s. “I have to go back.”

The hologram containing Lucretia’s scowl fades away as the call ends, and Taako raises his gaze to meet Magnus’s. “I have to go back.”

Magnus and Merle look at each other with confusion.

“What? Why?”

Taako heads towards the cave’s entrance.

“She basically kept me in a cage for the past seven years,” he says bitterly. “She’s got a lot to answer for.”

He isn’t surprised when Magnus and Merle follow him. He begins down the same path they came from, swinging his umbrella almost absently.

“Okay,” Magnus tries, “but she’s _dangerous._ You know that, right?”

Taako only shrugs. He doesn’t care. “So am I. So is Barry. So are you.”

“He’s got a point,” Merle mumbles.

Magnus takes a deep breath. “She killed Lup, Taako.”

Taako freezes. The name strikes _something_ into him--something he can’t quite place. The umbrella trembles in his hand. “Who?”

“Lup. Your sister?”

Taako keeps his back to the others as his stomach drops.

How could he forget having a _sister_?

Taako laughs hollowly. “Cha’boy doesn’t have a sister.”

Even as he says it, he doesn’t believe it.

Behind him, he hears Magnus whisper to Merle. “Are you sure the spell worked?”

“He lost a lotta memories. Gonna take a minute for them all to come back.”

Something sour churns in Taako’s gut.

He leads the way through the vacant streets of Neverwinter, silent as if the night’s events never happened. For the first time in seven years, Taako’s relying on his memory. Occasionally, his assured walk is shaken for a moment, and he has to readjust himself before changing his path and heading onwards.

But soon enough, the three find themselves in front of the same spherical pod that brought him and Barry here.

The door slides open as he approaches, as if it recognizes him, and he motions for the other two to climb inside. They do so without complaint, buckling into the back seats, and Taako follows suit, fastening himself into the pilot’s chair. He stares down at the flashing buttons in front of him with a frown.

“Taako,” Magnus asks from behind him, “do you know how to work this thing?”

Of course he doesn’t. He’s never left the moon base.

“Shut up,” he spits, “I’ll figure it out.”

He punches a few buttons, and the pod begins to elevate upwards. A silence falls over them as Taako makes sure they’re headed in the right direction. As they lift through the clouds, Magnus is the first to speak.

“So… What do you remember?”

Taako closes his eyes as he tries to sort through the mess in his head. Bits and pieces from different worlds swirl together, but it’s nothing concrete. “Not much. I remember making the Relics. I remember the two of you, and Barry, and Lucretia.”

“But not Lup?”

That name _again_. This time, his heart skips a beat. He shakes his head.

“What about Davenport?”

Taako thinks of Lucretia’s gnomish assistant and furrows his brow. “He’s part of this, too?”

“He’s our _captain_ ,” Merle answers quietly.

And suddenly Taako remembers. Their stoic captain that wouldn’t take orders from anyone, reduced to a shell of his former self.

“What happened?” Taako breathes. How did he end up on the moon base? How did _any_ of them end up there?

Taako has turned away from the controls, but they don’t seem to need his attention. Magnus shakes his head.

“We don’t know, exactly.”

He exhales slowly, trying to steady shaking hands. “Seven years ago, Lup and Lucretia went missing. Merle and I were out searching, and when we came back, you and Barry were crumpled on the ground. Lucretia was standing over you, covered in blood and holding the Phoenix Fire Gauntlet.”

Taako narrows his eyes. “So you ran?” It doesn’t match up with how he remembers Magnus: unflinching and unafraid.

Magnus bites his lip. “Davenport used the last of his strength to cast a Command spell on me. I didn’t have a choice. Merle followed me. By the time I regained my senses…”

“The ship was gone,” Merle finished. “And ever since, we’ve been working to keep her from getting her hands on any more of the Relics.”

The shuttle shudders to a stop and the door opens. “We’re here,” Taako says simply, unbuckling himself and sliding out.

The hangar is empty and eerily quiet. It’s odd -- Taako imagined he would hear _something_. The sounds of screams, of impact, of magic being cast.

But it’s silent.

Before Taako can piece together a plan, the hangar door opens and Avi comes running in, crossbow ready.

“Taako?” A look of confusion passes across his face. “What-- What are you doing in here? Who are these guys?”

“They’re friends,” Taako answers shortly. There’s no _time_ for this. “What’s going on?”

Avi throws Magnus and Merle a skeptical look. “It’s Bluejeans. Apparently he’s a lich--”

“Yeah, homie. I got that part. Where is he?”

“The Director’s office. She’s locked in with him. I don’t know how she’s holding him off, but I don’t think she can do it forever.”

“We’ll handle it.” Taako doesn’t know what “handling” it means, not yet. But he knows there’s something important he hasn’t remembered -- he can feel it.

Taako moves to push past Avi, but he’s stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you sure? No offense, but you’re her ward, and you’re… you know.” He gestures sheepishly in Taako’s direction.

Taako sneers. The umbrella snaps open and shut in his hands. It’s a comfort -- he feels like he can take on the world as long as it’s by his side. “I said we’ll handle it.”

Avi puts up no more resistance as Taako shrugs off his hand and leads the way outside, down the abandoned halls, and into the courtyard. They have to skirt their way around a crater, and Taako represses a shudder as he thinks about the amount of power needed to wreak such havoc.

There is little resistance as they push into the Director’s personal foyer. Carey, Killian, and Angus are there, wrapping bandages around blossoming bruises and deep cuts. Through the door to Lucretia’s office, Taako can hear the muffled sound of angry voices.

“Taako?” Killian and Carey exchange worried glances. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be somewhere safe?”

Taako wants to scream. “It’s _fine_. We have this handled.”

Magnus raises an eyebrow at Taako, who nods.

And, without another word, Magnus charges the door.


End file.
